Mother's Song
by flawsinscience
Summary: Izzy one shot. Dark content


I've always expected this moment to arrive twenty years down the line, by which point I'll have my own practice, a gorgeous husband and three kids. It's my little world which I hope for, what everyone hopes for. I don't have any big ideas that I'll cure cancer, or that there will be a magic tool to prevent the need for surgery, I know it's not likely to happen. Yet I do not wish to see her again.

I was 20, twenty years old and churning my way through medical school, I had no money, tonnes of friends and the attention of the frat house. And y'know what, I was easy, everyone knew it, I knew it. Yet I was happy, I'd broken the bounds of the trailer park and taken the first steps of having a life outside poverty. I had a body so I used it, but the stupidest mistake I ever made was believing it would never happen to me. That I'd never be the one who'd land up as "mummy" at 20. But I did. I did the whole pregnant thing, she came six weeks early, I couldn't handle it, so I bolted. I knew her name, I knew her face, and her cry, she had a definite cry which haunts me in the middle of the night.

I only saw her once more, I came so close to having her back one summer, we arranged a visit. I missed her, the nightmares of the traumatic birth became far too much. She was still in care, "too feisty" was written all over her file. I'd broken so many rules to see her again, taking her back would have been too far. I was on my way to a once in a lifetime internship at Seattle Grace, the words that send shivers down most doctors' spines. And I was bound to become an intern, right there. I had already sacrificed too much to get here, I was not about to make her as fucked up as I was. So we left it there, I let her return to the world of children's homes, new faces every few months, the loss, the heartache, the screwed up mind. I left her to it.

I was getting there, y'know, sorting out all the shit going on in my head, moving into Meredith's house gave me control back, I finally had stability, I had something to live for; friends. I was happy. Everything was going great, until Denny, Denny came in and started me off on a love sick puppy trip I'd not had in nearly three years, I became less like Izzy every day but I felt happy, whole. The type of feeling you get when you're back home with family in every direction you turn. Yet even then, I managed to screw up and yet again I was alone, like always, loner Izzy. That night, after prom, I made it home; I got through my bedroom door, flopped onto the mahogany floor boards and sobbed. I just sat and cried, for Denny, for me, for mum, for dad, for Meredith, for Christina, for George, for the attendings for anyone who cared about me. Anyone who got so close they were lost. It makes me feel like a train wreck, battering through life, causing everyone else to breakaway, fall down and fight back. Yet I don't, I get lost in the mush of emotions that flood me, sweeping me away in a torrent of abuse.

I sank to the floor, with my prom dress flowing round me, it was MY night too, prom's never quite work out with a belly the size of a heffalump, I got to wear my pretty dress, the one with the layers of material that make you feel like a princess, you look drop dead gorgeous and you know it, you're shoulder go back, your head is proud and you ARE.

Yet he never saw me. The one man who I felt like life would seize to exist without never saw me. I cried more than I ever have, I sobbed as my dress was taken away, my night clothes a feeble replacement, I cried as I was lifted to my bed and laid under the covers, alone. I sobbed lightly as they let the window open so I could feel the fresh air on my raw skin, I didn't stop crying until they left, until I knew I was alone, until I was sure.

Grief brings you all sorts of weird moods, which you entertain for a few hours, you laugh at the funny moments you remember, you cry harder than you ever have at the dawning realisation that the person you want to come through the door at supper time wont. That you won't get that chance to ride downtown and see the lights sparkle at night, that you won't be able to spend lazy summer days in the park. And the nights spent in bed together, keeping roommates awake. That is what you miss the most, the intimate time you spend together.

What makes me think about Hannah? Sarah? My little girl. The unconditional love she had for me, I know I never heard her say the words "I love you mommy," and probably never will. But I knew from the look in her eyes as I held her for the first time, the gaze unlocking that extra love you're heart's been storing. It's like a flood gate, filling you with the acceptance that someone will love you.

It's that love which makes it so much worse. It's like a hole draining any filling emotion from your body. Shot a bullet at the heart, watch it bleed, you can try to stem the flow but inevitably it gives way. There is only so long a band aid will cover it, but when it goes, you need to make dam sure you've got help to make it right.

And that person right at this moment, is or sorry are friends. It's the people who come into your room at two o'clock in the morning and snuggle up to you in bed because they know you need that hug, that just for that moment will make everything ok. They're the ones who bring you coffee in the morning and help you to fight another day through.

THEY ARE.


End file.
